


Early Fireworks

by SpunkySpaceCat



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-24
Updated: 2017-06-24
Packaged: 2018-11-18 08:37:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11287638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpunkySpaceCat/pseuds/SpunkySpaceCat
Summary: Eyy for all my Instagram fans (Aph_Gay_Countries is me) here's the continuation to my little fanfic skit. It's where England and France are at war, but America joins. gASpPLEASE NOTE THAT THERE IS 0 SHIPPING. I MEAN 0. I DO NOT SHIP USUK AND EVERYTHING THAT LOOKS LIKE A SHIP IS PURE COINCIDENCE. DO NOT START SHIP WARS. Honestly not everything is about ships, k?(I may have thrown some FrUk in sorry)





	Early Fireworks

**Author's Note:**

> Read the damn summary (Oh and for my Instagram fans, I'm doing this on a computer so it's A LOT more spruced up than what I did on my phone. )
> 
> Remember there is NO SHIPPING

The year was 2020. Not much had happened, unless you counted a shitton of shit happening to each of the countries. But that's not what was happening right now. Nope, at the moment, France and England were having yet another war. Yeah. Another heccing war. Well, this was just like any typical "fight" between the two nations. They met up at a meeting, disagreed on something, and wouldn't talk to each other for a few days. Like an old married couple. And then they broke out fighting, and it became a "mini war" if that could be a thing. Well, this "mini war" wasn't even technically a war. There were about 5 casualties on each side, and they weren't even that war related. There was literally 1 fight, and that was in the meeting room. England ended up pulling a small of wad France's hair out. It didn't end pretty. 

Life went on for the regular citizens of both countries. The military was lounging around, and the police forces took care of most of the dilemmas on either side. Some could say that there wasn't even a war going on, just a fight between two lovers. This "war" wasn't bloody or violent, just a simple quarrel over a trivial matter. And that trivial matter had enough fuel in it to make a small flame of war. But that flame would soon be extinguished. 

Right?

Nah.

Right at the "climax" of this supposed "war", on a whim, America joined. 

What?

America joined a small argument over something involving fingernails, and he decided to take France's side. 

England wasn't happy at all. As matter of fact, he was quite furious at America. One day while seething, he found America in a small clearing. In Europe. In Britain. America was in Britain. And to make it worse, he was drinking a coke. The most American product there was. 

England stormed over to the figure of America, and jabbed a finger into his chest. He couldn't help it. England was so mad that he could've thrown a ton of bricks at something and be unfazed. England's eyes met America's.

"Why did you join that bloody frog? Why did you join in OUR fight?" England asked. America just gazed at him with a slightly ajar mouth and responded with a "just cause," and walked away. He walked away from England. 

Well, England wasn't even mad over the fight anymore. He was mad because America had joined France's side. And no. It wasn't because he was sexually attracted to him or liked him or anything, it was just the principle of the matter. America was basically flipping England off. And England didn't like that. He fucking hated it. A small crack was heard and much to England's dismay, he accidentally broke one of his teacups because he had been thinking over this matter too much. Cursing, he threw the slightly ruined cup away and took a walk outside to clear his head. 

Without America, the fight seemed to be calming down quite a bit, well. The little fighting that there was had calmed down. But no. America HAD to join and fuck it all up. And France was estatic. When America joined France's side, France gained a newfound feeling of courageousness and decided to fuel the flames of war. 

The first major fight broke out, and England lost more people than he had hoped he would. He was "losing" this "war." 

What war? There wasn't even a war in the first place. Well, at least not then. When America joined, the war began.

England was sitting on a stump, his fingers crossed over his face. He was deep in thought about the current "war" going on. Apparently he had lost one of the battles at one of his major cities. He lost a battle over a fight over fingernails. That was pure wrong. England was livid at this point, but he was too tired to care. He didn't notice a few clouds rolling overhead, blocking out the sun. That was quite common at his place actually, so he thought nothing of it. 

Glancing up, England caught the sight of a silhouette in the dark. He stood up and approached this figure. When he saw that brown bomber jacket and that lazy look, he instantly knew that the damn American was here. America was leaning against a tree, quietly sipping out of a coke bottle. 

England was too furious for words. America was here. In his country. Drinking a damn coke. A crack of thunder ripped through the sky. A storm was coming.

Overcome by rage, and far beyond his own thoughts, England reached into his jacked and ripped out a pistol before he knew what he was doing. Before his head could register what his body was doing, he had cocked the pistol and was holding it to America's chest. His eyes widened and tears sprang from his eyes on impulse. England couldn't wrap his head around what was happening. 

"You damn American... After all that I've been through... And this is how you repay me?" England's voice was trembling with each word. He was tripping inside his own mind, and he had no grasp of his own actions. His body seemed to be acting all its own. He screamed at himself to put the gun. His hand trembled, but did not waver from its stance. America just stared at England with dull eyes. The coke bottle raised itself to his lips and he took a sip. England just watched, the gun still in hand. 

America wiped his mouth with his glove and in a mocking gesture, put his hands in the air. A sign of defeat. England gritted his teeth. It wasn't a sign of surrender, it was to mock him. And England didn't like being mocked. England's eyes darkened and his eyes drifted to the ground. His head hung low, and his arm dropped. But it seemed that the arm holding the gun had a mind of its own, because it never moved from its spot on America's chest. America's gaze never left England's. He just stared with dead eyes. 

England's mind and thoughts were a dark haze. A haze of mixed emotions that no words could describe. England tried to look through the mist, but it was like looking through a brick wall. There was no other end. England gritted his teeth harder. America's mouth slowly tilted upwards. It tilted until he had a small half-smile, shining brightly on his face. 

England glanced up and saw this now smiling America. Usually, this would've made him even more furious, but it just made him feel extremely tired. He felt the gun slowly droop from his hands. The rage was now gone, and replaced with weariness. England realized, America wasn't a force to be reckoned with. America was a wild card, played at any moment, at the most unexpected of times, and when he struck, disaster followed. That described America perfectly. England realized that he had already been defeated. America had won this war without even lifting a finger. All he had to do was drink out of a few coke bottles. England's arm started to drop down.

"England, it's not his fault. It's yours."

NO IT'S NOT!

"England, you know this. You did a terrible job raising him. That's why he's this way."

SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP!!

 

A loud clap of thunder echoed in the vast sky. The "crack" it made was so immense. Every bird in the area flew away. The sound alarmed England. 

Another crack rang about a millisecond after the first one. But this time, it wasn't thunder. 

The gun flew out of England's hand.

**Author's Note:**

> Probably a one-shot thing lol. Cliffhanger.
> 
> I typed this at 1 AM I feel proud of myself
> 
> Definitely not my best work, but I'm tired as shit 
> 
>  
> 
> Eyyyy cliffhanger


End file.
